


Nightmare of the Opera

by Tenshiryuu



Series: Nightmare of the Opera [1]
Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, BlackIce, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenshiryuu/pseuds/Tenshiryuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson Daae Frost is a promising young performer at the Opera Populaire.  Who is his mysterious tutor, and is he connected to the strange happenings at the Opera House?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Shadow Sypmphony

**Author's Note:**

> Because JackFrostatyourWindow from Tumblr and I really wanted to do a Phantom AU. This is mostly based on the original play and Michael Crawford's portrayal of Phantom (Because he really has a Pitch feel to him) and also the 2004 movie version. So yeah, enjoy pervy theatrical drama queen Pitch. *Edit: I changed our supporting cast a bit. For reasons.*

Jackson Daae Frost stood nervously, fidgeting with the buttons on his costume. From beyond the heavy curtain that hid the stage, he could hear quiet voices drifting up from the audience. They were waiting for the opening number. It was the first show of the season, and expectations were high. The Twins looked as haughty and unconcerned as ever, awaiting their cue. If any of the others were as nervous as Jackson, they hid it well.

The orchestra began to play, and the curtains swept aside. Jackson was in the first set of dancers, but his legs felt like lead. He heard Bebe murmur something behind him, and someone gave him a rough shove onto the stage. It wasn't as if he hadn't practiced, he had. Just as much as everyone else, if not more. He knew the moves, he knew the score. Yet his feet refused to move. It was as if he had turned to ice.

All eyes were on him. The stage illumination made it hard to see the faces in the darkness beyond, but he knew they were staring. Waiting. Why couldn't he move? _I can't do this,_ he thought frantically. _I can't..._

“Jack,” he heard Astrid hiss behind him. “Stop messing around! This is the real thing, what are you doing?” Questioning voices rose from the audience, too garbled for him to make out. He began to shiver. He tries to sing a bit of the chorus, voice dying in his throat as fear overcame him. He felt a surge of overwhelming disappointment from the crowd beyond the stage lights. It's thick enough to feel like it's alive, a black frightening presence just beyond his vision.

Suddenly he's alone on stage. Astrid and the Twins are gone. So are all the others. It's just Jackson, and hundreds, thousands of blank white eyes are focused on him. He can't move. Those eyes are staring, unblinking. Telling him how badly he's failed. Then, from the sea of uncaring stares, a pair of molten gold eyes appear. Their gaze feels somehow empowering, and Jack tries to focus on them.

“Jackson,” a silky voice drifts through the darkness, from the direction of those gilded eyes. A Cheshire smile appears below them. “Sing.” The other eyes, cold and blank, begin to fade into swirling mist. There was nothing but that golden gaze. “Sing for me,” the voice purred breathlessly. A hand reached toward him.

Jackson sucked in a swift breath, the cool air reviving him. He knew this voice. His mysterious, unseen tutor. The voice that sang to him in his sleep and taught him in his waking hours. “I...I can't,” He was still frightened, but his legs moved enough for him to step forward and take that hand. “Not alone, I can't do it alone...Not this first time...”

Long fingers closed around Jackson's as a figure stepped forward from the shadows, tall, clad in shimmering black and purple. The figure's face was obscured by an ornate mask modeled after an equine skull. “Sing for me, my Angel of Music.” From the skull's eyeholes, those golden orbs smouldered.

Jackson pressed himself against the tall wraith. He sucked in a deep breath, down to his diaphragm as he had been taught, and began to sing. As his voice rose, the orchestra began to play once more. The stage lights flared, bright candles driving the shadows back, blowing the dark mist away. The eyes he had seen in the darkness returned, only now they were full of glee and admiration. He felt his tutor begin to move, to dance, and he followed the mysterious man's lead. There was a spotlight on them, and they were the only ones on stage, but he didn't care anymore. Not now that his Angel of Music was by his side.

The tall man chuckled, a sound that reached into Jackson's very soul, a sound that seeped into his bones. Those hypnotic eyes never left his own. “You are the star. Do not let them tell you otherwise. They are fools.” Beneath the mask the sharklike grin widened. “Show them. Show me.” Their bodies swayed in unison.

Jackson's voice became stronger, louder, his dancing more confident. He remembered the ballet that he was to perform. The masked figure acted as his support, lifting and spinning him. Every time Jackson felt those slender fingers on his hips or side, a part of him got hotter and heavier inside. He began to lean into that touch at every opportunity.

The wraith's hands glided over his body, possessive yet tender. They held him steady, caressing his hips and back when he wasn't being held aloft. Those eyes burned with hunger and admiration. “Jackson, my Jackson,” the sibilant voice breathed in his ear. Jackson's heart leapt every time his tutor spoke.

“Jackson...”

“Angel...”

“Jackson! Jackson?” This voice wasn't his tutor's. Whose? No, he didn't want this man to leave. Not now. Not yet. Jack gasped and lurched awake. One arm was still outstretched, reaching fruitlessly toward eyes of molten gold that were no longer there. His own sapphire eyes blinked in the morning light. Astrid. It was Astrid's voice he'd heard, she was at his door now.

“Jackson, did you have another bad dream?” She sounded concerned.

Jackson was grateful for the heavy blanket across his lap as she peeked in. “N-not really?...”

“All right. Hurry up and eat, we have to rehearse soon. And there's gonna be some big announcement too, so they say.” She ducked back into the hallway, and he heard her delicate footsteps retreat back toward the girl's dorms.

Jackson was warm, drenched in sweat. He gazed around the empty room, heart thudding against his ribs. “Remember...You promised me I wouldnt' be alone...” His voice came out a breathless whisper. He rose from the bed and padded off to take a very cold shower before meeting Astrid and the others.


	2. Falling Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mysterious accident causes the Opera Populaire's resident stars to flee, it becomes Jackson's time to shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to add more Norwegian bits for the Twins, seeing as Carlotta and Piangi have a lot of ranting in Italian in the original, sadly all I have to work with is Google Translate. So if you actually know a thing or two about the language and see any glaring mistakes/have anything better to add, do let me know!

Feeling somewhat more refreshed, Jackson made his way to the dressing rooms for morning practice, the memory of the masked man with the enchanted voice still fresh in his mind. Astrid and Madame Toothiana were already there, stretching and prepping for the morning's rehearsal. After a short greeting, he was whisked swiftly away to the makeup and costume artists, his least favorite part of the day. Sitting still for long periods of time wasn't exactly his strong suite. All around him, he could here whispered conversation regarding the Opera's owner. Manny had hinted that there would be a few surprises today, and Jackson wondered vaguely what they'd be.

Once the artists finished transforming him into an exotic slave boy, Jackson hurried toward the stage to join his companions. As usual, the director was busy shouting at the Thorston twins, the Opera's resident divas. That, Jackson thought dryly, was little surprise to anyone. The two Norwegians had a penchant for trying to modify scripts that they found boring or unoriginal, which was pretty much everything. Actually, he found many of their ideas quite amusing, but he doubted the stuffy patrons who kept him and the others employed would appreciate their “inginuity”.

“No, no, NO! Non! You must cease with the fighting. And for the last time, there's no dragons. Elephants. They're elephants.” The repetiteur, Phil, sighed. “This is about _Romans_ , not rampaging Vikings! Once more, if you please, Herre Tuff, Dame Ruff.” He stomped off to his conductor's box, glaring at anyone who dared to be in his way.

Jackson fidgeted with the accents on his costume. As one of the leading slave boys, there wasn't much to the garment. Of course, that meant several sets of eyes constantly roaming his body, and he shifted a bit under Dame Ruff's gaze. There was only one pair of eyes he desired on him, those eyes of molten gold that he never saw outside of his dreams. That man wasn't just a fantasy. He couldn't be. _Where are you, my Angel of Music?_ he wondered, his gaze rising to the Opera's lofty rafters.

Somehow, the Twins managed to get through the first segment without adding their own strange flavor to the script. Affinity for giant battles and fantastic monsters aside, they really did excel at their craft. Perhaps a bit too theatrical for Jackson's taste, but they did keep the seats full night after night. However, Jackson knew _he_ wasn't very pleased with the Thorstons. _He_ wanted Jackson to be the Opera's shining star. Secretly, Jackson longed for that distinction as well. How, though, could he ever compete with such skill?

The pale boy's thoughts were interrupted by Manny's voice. The current head of the Opera Populaire was wandering among the performers, followed by a pair of men Jackson had never seen before. The first was a large older man with a snowy beard, his companion a miniscule rotund little creature with wild hair and sleepy eyes. Jackson couldn't hear all of their conversation, but caught the larger man questioning “Monsieur, I keep asking, why exactly are you -” his final words were drowned out by Dame Ruffnut's singing. Jackson winced, as did several of the stagehands.

He tried to get closer, nearly getting stepped on as Madame Toothiana, the Opera's ballet mistress, shooed the strange men out of the way. Manny stuttered something and introduced her to the strangers, complementing the surrounding performers and completely ignoring whatever question the lumbering man had asked. Astrid dragged Jackson away at that point, it was their turn on stage.

After they had run through the scene again, Manny took advantage of the brief lull to lead his guests onstage. “Ladies and gentlemen!” He gestured grandly to all gathered. “As you know, there have been rumors of my retirement as of late.” He gazed at the performers as they murmured to one another. “I am here to inform you that they are, in fact, true. The two gentlemen behind me are the new owners of the Opera Populaire. Allow me to introduce Messieurs Nikolai St. North and Sanderson Mansnoozie.

“Ha, knew it,” The twins grinned at each other. “Maybe now they'll get rid of some of the wimps that are crimping my style” Herre Tuff shot a glance in Jackson's direction, but the boy ignored it, too focused on the newcomers. He felt a little knot in his stomach. New owners? Hardly anything ever changed at the Opera. Manny had been around for as long as he could remember. This couldn't be good. What would _he_ think? Manny, at least, had kept some semblance of order.

The newcomers greeted the Twins and Phil, and then made the mistake of complimenting the dancers and wonderful set dressings. “Oh, here we go,” Astid rolled her eyes.

“Oh, not you too.” Tuffnut growled.

“They're probably not going to listen to our ideas,either.” His sister scowled. “They're as enchanted with all this 'proper' set stuff as you are.” She glared at Manny.

“And the dancers aren't even that great either.” Tuffnut glared at Jackson again. “I still say we could use more real wild animals.”

“Huh?” The larger man, Monsieur North, looked confused.

“If it's just going to be more of the same old boring stuff, we're out of here.” The Twins nodded at one another with finality, and turned to leave the stage.

Manny groaned, staring after the retreating figures as they shoved other performers out of their path. Sanderson tugged on Nikolai's coat before bouncing forward to intercept them, the bearded Russian following. The smaller man stepped in front of the Twins, waving up at them. “Sandy is big fan of yours, Herre Thorston,” Nikolai grinned. “Has been following performances for _ages_!” He spread his arms wide, nearly knocking Jackson and a few other unfortunate performers over. “Yes, very wonderful, I am fan too. I hear there is rousing number in later act of play.” He nodded to the gangly singer. “I don't suppose you could give special performance for new owners? Would be very nice.”

Tuffnut paused. Jackson knew he'd never pass up an opportunity to show off. Sure enough, the other boy gave an arrogant grin and glanced at Phil. “Guess if this guy says so.”

Phil grumbled a bit but then nodded. “As my _maestro_ commands.” He turned, indicating the pianist should begin the first few bars. Jackson sighed as Herre Thorston's voice rang out over the stage. He was great, really. Jackson's tutor insisted that he was better, that it was Jackson's voice that the audience deserved to hear, but times like this left the chorus boy wondering. Could he ever really compete with one of the famous Thorstons?

Tuffnut had only barely begun to sing when, without warning, there was a tremendous noise from above the stage. Several set dressings came crashing to the ground, nearly taking out the singer and a few surrounding performers. The dancers scattered with screams of terror. “He's here, the Phantom of the Opera,” Jackson heard Astrid gasp. The name was echoed by those around him. _Phantom. Ghost._ Ruffnut shoved the heavy backdrop off her twin. “I'm the only one who's allowed to try and crush my brother,” she snarled, glaring toward the Opera's ceiling. Jackson's azure eyes followed hers, scanning the catwalks above. There was a flash of movement, but to his disappointment the shadow turned out to be Aster, the chief stagehand.

“Aster Bunnymund? Constellations man, what is going on up there?” Manny craned his neck, the two men beside him doing the same.

“Ain't no one up here,” the scruffy Australian growled. “I swear it, wasn't at me post. If anyone was 'ere, then, 'ed have to be a ghost.”

The whispers of _the Phantom of the Opera_ began again, and Monsieur Sanderson threw up his hands in exasperation. The Twins glared. “These things have been happening for ages. How come we don't ever get to do this kind of stuff?” Herre Tuff jabbed a finger at Manny.

“Yeah. And we're not trying to kill anyone with fancy painted backgrounds.” Dame Ruff added. “I mean, sure, maybe someone would get hurt but that just makes it more believable.”

“I don't want to get killed by some guy stealing all my good ideas. If you can't stop these things from happening,” her brother waved a hand.

“ _This thing_ is not going to happen,” they said in unison, turning on their heels to shove their way offstage.

“ _A_ _matører!”_ Tuffnut huffed at the two new owners as he passed.

“Get my iguana and my fur coats. We're leaving!” Ruffnut didn't bother glancing at them at all.

Manny watched the proceedings with a glazed look. As the Twins stormed off, he clapped his hands and smiled nervously. “Well, I see that there is not much more I can do here. I leave the Opera Populaire in your capable hands, gentlemen.” He nodded to the two new owners before swiftly heading offstage, grabbing his hat and coat from a stagehand. “If you need me, I'll be in Patagonia. Or perhaps the Moon. Some remote place. I do believe you will do an absolutely wonderful job of running this fine establishment. Farewell.” He practically ran offstage, and was gone before either of the newcomers could object.

Monsieur Sanderson rolled his eyes, while Monsieur Nikolai stared at the remaining performers, aware that they were all looking to him now. “Ah...well then.” He managed a smile. “I'm sure they will return, yes?” He glanced at the shorter man, who only shrugged.

“Messieurs, I have a note. From our Opera Ghost.” Madame Toothiana glided forward, as composed as always.”

“Rimsky-Korsakov, you are all obsessed,” Nikolai stared.

“He welcomes you to _his_ Opera house, and commands that you always leave Box Five open for his use.” she continued smoothly, turning to gaze at Sanderson. “He would also like to remind you that his salary is due.” The little man quirked an eyebrow. “Monsieur Manny paid him the amount of 20,000 francs a month.” She ignored the horrified expression that passed between the two men. “Perhaps you could afford more, as you do have the Vicomte De Hooligan as your patron.” The name caught Jackson's attention, it seemed familiar. Could it be?

Sanderson looked up at Nikolai, who sighed. “Madame, we were to be announcing that publicly tonight.” He stared at the fallen set pieces. “But it appears we will have to cancel. Our stars are kaput.” Sanderson gestured to the surrounding performers, and North looked dejectedly to Phil. “Are any understudies?”

“We have one for Dame Ruff, though she is not nearly of the same level,” he answered.

Beside Jackson, Astrid huffed indignantly. After a moment of glaring at the conductor though, she shoved Jackson forward. “Jackson Daae can sing the part of the King.”

Jackson didn't have much time to protest. The King? He stared at the fallen set pieces, and at the many pairs of eyes now watching him. He wasn't alone, he told himself, imagining the only eyes that mattered. He could do this, he was never truly alone. “I can try,” he said quietly.

“He can sing it.” Madame Toothiana nodded to him. “He has been well taught.”

Sanderson raised his eyebrows, glancing up at the ballet mistress. “Daae?” Nikolai repeated, stroking his beard. “Not a relation of the famous violinist?”

“His father,” Madame Toothiana answered for Jackson. “The boy came to live here when he died. I have looked after him along with my adopted daughter Astrid. His head is always in the clouds, but his voice will not disappoint you.” Sanderson and Nikolai glanced nervously at one another, then nodded to Jackson.

“Don't have much more to lose,” he heard the larger man whisper. “Not with this talk of Phantom ghosts and falling sets.”

Jackson stepped forward, trying to clear his mind. Astrid smiled encouragingly. He glanced at her, and then closed his eyes, beginning to sing. He thought about his dream, about that man's words. His voice grew stronger, holding a confidence and beauty that surpassed even Herre Tuffnut. When he dared to open his eyes again, he saw the expressions of awe on the faces around him. The new owners slowly began to smile, nodding to each other.

From then on, everything was a blur to Jackson. The song finished to a round of cheers and clapping, and he was whisked away to be measured and fitted for the King's outfit. He barely had time to think. There was more practice, more attention, more cheers. It seemed like only moments before he was back on stage again, only this time the empty chairs were filled with hundreds of spectators, all there to watch him. He sang with his heart and soul, as he'd been taught. Sometimes, he'd imagine that he saw a shadow move in the seemingly empty Box Five, but he could never be sure.

 

Above the stage, in the Manager's Box, the Vicomte de Hooligan, Hiccup, raised his opera-glasses. “Can it be?” he asked himself. “Can it be Jackson?” He stood, calling “Bravo!” as a sea of cheers rose from the audience below. “Fantastic! Still a show-off, but now for all the world to see! I remember him, but I wonder if he'll remember me...”

 

As the music swelled for the play's finale, Jackson couldn't help but smile. His Angel was listening, he had to be. Sapphire eyes gazed over the cheering crowd, heart pounding with excitement. He'd done it. All those bravos were for him. For the first time, he wasn't just another nameless dancer, second to Herre Tuff. Jackson bowed with a flourish as the curtains dropped, the heavy material barely muffling the sounds of applause.


End file.
